Existence
by neveraworsename
Summary: Tara moves to Sunnydale her senior year and finds that the idyllic town isn't as great as it seems. Especially when a string of murders and freak accidents is predicted by local weirdo Willow Rosenberg. AU
1. Chapter 1

Title: Existence

Author's Name: The Best Name On The Site

Rating: M, NC-17

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't sue me.

Feedback: Please?

Distribution: Take it, just ask first.

Summary: Tara moves to Sunnydale her senior year and finds that the idyllic town isn't as great as it seems. Especially when a string of murders and freak accidents is predicted by local weirdo Willow Rosenberg. AU

Author's Notes: Just an interesting idea I had.

1

Tara hummed, quietly, as she unpacked the last of her boxes. The move had gone swiftly and neatly. The five bedroom house was cheaper than land east and there was still plenty of space for a small garden that Mama and she could enjoy. Her room had been painted an unassuming blue, the floors wooden and cool beneath her bare feet. Sunlight splashed in from the two windows, one facing the east and the other north.

The blondish teenager went down the stairs, heading to the kitchen. She could hear Daddy humming quietly as he started on lunch early. That meant Mama was having one of her spells and would be hiding somewhere, hoping to wallow. Tara was determined not to let her.

The doctor had already said, "A positive attitude and a healthy diet with lots of water and herbal tea would do her wonders. Most battles are lost by a deterioration of the spirit, not the body. Keep her mind busy and off the cancer and she should do just fine."

She leaned against the frame and looked at her Daddy. He was a little taller than her, with short, gray hair and her blue eyes. They were eclipsed by the heavy bags under his eyes that made him seem older. He'd lost weight, his jeans looser than in the years before and his shirts hanging lower. He'd given up his beloved career to work with a cousin since he would make more money, he skipped lunch everyday to see that Mama knew he was around, he drove a smaller, used car and his nights with a fine whiskey or bottle of wine were over. She wondered if she would ever find such a devoted love, but shook the thoughts from her head. She was still young and finding a lover was a long way off, especially if this town was as conservative as the last.

Donny, she worried about. He'd always been angry, bitter with his lot in life to go to a second-rate school that no one looked at unless it was for football players, to run the farm when he became a man, to give up his aspirations to be an artist, his talent only used to paint shutters and design nurseries for the bare-foot hicks of their hometown. He wasn't all bad, though. He'd given her a painting of her and Mama, sleeping on the porch when she was still in middle-school, Daddy's shadow on the screen door. The older boy must have felt helpless without being able to do anything to help Mama.

Mama was in what would be her father's personal room, curled up in the leather arm-chair, breathing gently. Tara bit her lip, looking at the sleeping woman. She'd lost a lot of weight, was paler than the blonde could recall. Mama looked like a different person with her pale blonde hair gone, her gray eyes had lost most of their vitality. There were sparks occasionally, especially when she was angry, but for the most part, they were like dull coins.

She'd seen Mama on the farm, once, staring up at the sky through the leaves of her favorite oak, hands folded neatly above her stomach, just after her hair had been shaved. She'd looked so tiny and fragile and not there that Tara had needed to hurry up the stairs and hold her stomach to keep from vomiting.

Tara bent somewhat and wrapped her mama's arms around her neck before picking her up securely and heading to her room on the ground floor. Mama breathed reassuringly against her neck, softly and steadily. Medical equipment had been thrown into the closet in case it ever got that bad, but it was a cheerful room, reminiscent of the planned nursery before the brain and breast cancer had started to duke it out with her body. She really wasn't sure Mama would like it; any mention of the baby before had resulted with angry, cutting words, stony silence, or thrown objects. Tara had a slight scar just to the left of her wrist from picking up the shattered glass from the last talk about Hannah.

She tucked the smaller woman in bed before heading outdoors. Daddy would call her when lunch was ready, as he had for the past few months. The porch was warm under her feet and Tara wished for the soft green grass and cool breezes of her hometown in Alabama. She shook that train of thought off and tried to think of all the good things that they had now in Sunnydale, but she couldn't think of much besides the material things. They were still the fractured and hurt family from before, no matter the surroundings.

The girl walked off the edge of her warm porch before heading to the side of the house. The previous owners had placed some flowers there and it was a mix of thriving wilderness and the neatness of a garden. Bees and butterflies fluttered gently on the open plants. She sat in a patch of daisies, the odd ball to the freesias, orchids, and herbs, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. It felt good, and if she closed her eyes, and ignored the stale smoggy scent, she could be home for just a few minutes. Then she heard the sound of loud laughter. She opened her eyes in surprise, and tried to shrink into herself.

A group of teens were across the street. There were two girls and two boys walking up the block, arguing loudly but cheerfully. She wondered what Donny would make of the group, how he would paint them in a mix of eclectic colors and textures. The blonde girl in the group looked up, a smile so bright on her mouth that it hurt to look at, and saw her. Tara wished she was the same neutral beige color as her house. The other girl's smile widened and Tara gave her a tremulous one back. Talking to people wasn't her strong suit, especially with those closer to her age.

The petite girl waved cheerfully, enthusiastically, before letting it drop and heading across the street with no warning to her friends. The shorter of the two boys grabbed her arm before letting go when she turned to face him. Their conversation was short, but he shrugged and the dark-haired trio followed the tiny girl. They crossed her yard, grass tugging at their ankles, and the blonde girl grinned at her again as she sat near her.

"Sorry about inviting myself here, but it's not often we get new neighbors." She stuck a tan hand out, "I'm Buffy Summers." Tara shook it shortly before Buffy introduced her entourage, "That's Xander Harris, Jesse McNally, and Faith Lehane."

She tried to give them her least fearful smile, "I'm T-a-a-ara Mac-l-l-lay."

The dark-haired girl nodded to her bare feet, "You walk around like that often, T?"

Tara blushed and wiggled her toes in the cool grass, "S-s-sometimes. I-i-it's comfortable."

She shrugged, "Whatever floats your boat," before sitting in the grass across from her. The boys took that as their cue and flopped gracelessly, kicking their shoes off and peeling their sweaty socks off.

The taller one said, "Hey, you're right! I need to walk around like this more often. Way better than shoes."

The other teenager just grinned at her, and for some reason it let her relax. Donny sometimes smiled at her like that, when his moods had passed, and he became the world-class brother that helped her with homework, projects, had pillow fights, and taught her what to do if a boy made unwanted advances. Or, as he had politely put it, "Kick him until his balls fall out his nose and he's sniveling. No one gets to my little sister like that."

The blond man stuck his head out the window and whistled sharply. She looked up and he winked at her before sticking his head back in.

"Brother?" Xander asked. She nodded, "Y-y-yeah."

He grinned again, "Cool. Faith's the closest thing I've ever had to a big brother."

The girl in question mock-scowled, "Fuck you, X-Man. You wish you had a relative this hot."

He held his hands up, "I refuse to answer that on the basis that you have to feed me lunch at school tomorrow."

Tara very nearly winced. She hated school with a passion reserved almost solely for bats and albino rodents. "W-w-what grade are y-y-y-you guys in?"

"Eleventh," They answered at almost the same time. She tried not to pout that her new almost-friends weren't going to be in her classes, "T-t-twelfth."

The tallest in the group said, "You moved from out of state, right?" She nodded and he continued, "You'll probably have to take some of our classes. All of the credits coming in is almost unheard of."

He smiled at her in a way that made her vaguely uncomfortable, "Just more time with us, huh?"

The blonde scoffed playfully, "Just because you're on the school newspaper, you think you're Mr. Know-it-all."

That set the other two off, making fun of Jesse. He took the ribbing easily, shrugging it off with a smirk as he replied, "You're just mad I don't gossip."

They dog-piled him gleefully and she giggled at his dramatic act of death. They climbed off slowly, and he remained dead for all of ten seconds before rolling onto his stomach to face them. She wondered if his mother would disapprove about the grass stains on his shirt and jeans like Mama used to about Donny and her.

Buffy nodded to the house to the left of them, the one her window faced. "Met them yet?"

She shook her head as Faith said, bluntly, "Good. That's a freaky family."

"F-f-freaky?" She asked, swallowing. There went the brief images of holding signs up to talk to her new neighbors like she'd seen in the movies. With her luck, they would be mass-murders that liked overly-tall, awkward blondes.

Buffy frowned at Faith, "I wouldn't say freaky. They're just different. You know how I feel about Angel."

Xander sighed loudly, in a way that said they'd had this conversation before and he didn't like it, "His name is Liam. I don't even know why you call him that; he's just mad about his name being almost like his brother's."

She raised her eyebrows, "Trust me, if I could get out of being called Buffy, I would." He flushed lightly but didn't turn his gaze away.

The smallest in the group turned back to Tara, "Angel is this wonderful older guy. He lives with his brother and sister."

Jesse interrupted her, "And their girlfriends, or were those just really affectionate friends who kiss on the mouth?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at Tara and the blondish teenager had to keep herself from shrinking back, but couldn't stop the deep red blush from rising. Any and all attention was bad, was her opinion.

Buffy rolled her eyes, "I **know** that." She grumbled, "Doesn't mean I have to like it." She raised her voice, "It's just different, you know. Not bad." She flopped onto her back and said mostly to herself, "I like different."

Tara smiled at the day-dreamy blonde and said, "M-m-m-me too."

She got another bright-as-the-sun grin and an arm around her waist casually.

Daddy opened the door and called out, "Tara? It's lunch time." He continued, "If your friends want to stay, that's fine."

The boys stood up and helped them off the ground. They grabbed their shoes and placed them on the porch as they trooped inside, their voices loud in the house.

Hours later, when it was dark and the streetlights flickered on one by one, they left, promising to come back after school tomorrow. Tara laid on her bed, feeling the thrum of energy. Her heart thumped as she thought about her new, outgoing friends. Already, she had three more in Sunnydale than she did in her small Alabama town. She wondered if Jessica really counted, once you considered that they were only friends when no one else was around. The quartet had even helped her unpack between inside-jokes and playful digs, so her room was perfect. They had even been polite to Mama, and that had definitely gained them some points in Daddy's books.

She thought about what school would be like tomorrow. She hoped they wouldn't ignore her when school started. Buffy had told her to wait just outside the school entrance for her, but that could easily be a lie. She sucked in a deep breath and held it. She waited until their were spots flashing and her chest hurt before letting it out. "Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, bad thoughts float away," Tara whispered.

When they didn't go away, she went to take a shower. She washed her hair as mocking laughter flitted around her thoughts, and pulled on her pajamas. She flicked the light off and walked downstairs almost silently. Dinner was done already, and she swung her feet as she chewed, the silence broken only by the clatter of cutlery on plates. Tara walked around the house again, learning all the creaky spots and the loose floorboards. Donny's bedroom door was open and she watched him paint, his eyes never straying from the from her position, she could tell it would bleak and his best one yet. It was almost eleven when she crawled into her bed and the fear tried to swallow her. She closed her eyes, letting her breath float out, pretending that it was taking all her insecurities with it. She left her bed again and crept into her Mama's bed. The smaller woman muttered her name before snuggling against her daughter. She murmured her mantra again, "Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, bad thoughts float away." This time they did. When her feet started to get cold she slipped out of the bed again, letting her Mama curl up in the warm spot.

The teenager crawled into her bed and her heart froze. Bright green eyes stared at her through the window and pinned her with their blankness. They closed and opened again, before they drifted away from her. She swallowed back the fear and rolled over. Just a cat, she thought. "Just a cat," She said out loud, hoping it would make her feel better. She didn't think about the round pupils and the flashes of white and red.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Existence

Author's Name: The Best Name On The Site

Rating: M, NC-17

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't sue me.

Feedback: Please?

Distribution: Take it, just ask first.

Summary: Tara moves to Sunnydale her senior year and finds that the idyllic town isn't as great as it seems. Especially when a string of murders and freak accidents is predicted by local weirdo Willow Rosenberg. AU

Author's Notes: Just an interesting idea I had.

2

It took Tara all of ten minutes to get ready for school the next day. Despite her apprehension about whether or not she really would have friends, she had to go. Spending all day wandering around with nothing to break her thoughts wasn't going to be productive. Her brother waited in the kitchen, eating his plain cornflakes, occasionally throwing his car keys up and catching them. She picked at her own plate of buttered toast, almost too nervous to eat. She could hear Daddy in his office, already working, and Mama liked to sleep until late afternoon. Tara hated being the subject of attention, and being the new girl in a small town like this would be the absolute worst. They'd probably make her talk about herself and she'd be at the bottom of the totem pole within seconds of opening her mouth.

When she didn't feel like she could stomach anymore, she threw her toast in the trash and pulled on her sneakers. Donny glanced at her and frowned, "Is that my Ramones shirt? The one I've been looking for the last month?"

She grinned, "M-m-m-maybe."

"Sisters," He muttered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They climbed into the truck and he pulled out the drive-way with a honk to alert their parents. As she flicked with the radio dial he said, "I'm not gonna be able to pick you up. I have a class from 2:30 to 4, so call me from the pay phone when you get out. It's not a far walk, and I think one of your friends lives nearby."

"Wh-h-h-ich on-n-ne?" She asked him.

He replied, "The tall guy."

Tara felt her mouth pull into a grimace. Donny looked at her out the corner of his eye, "You don't like him?"

The girl shook her head, "He's int-er-r-r-ested in m-m-me. I-I-I-I'm not."

"It's not that far a walk. You can do it by yourself," He replied, then drifted into one of his silences.

She hummed along with the repetitive song as she looked out the window. A large building was coming up, much different from the ranch style homes and zany storefronts. It was gray and intimidating and her eyebrows went up at the sign, 'Sunnydale Preparatory Academy.' That wasn't really a school, was it? It was too impersonal and cold. But she could see teenagers heading inside, dressed nearly identically in black slacks and skirts with white oxford shirts and plain black ties. Donny stopped at the red light and glanced to the side, before laughing, "They look like Geek Squad for juniors."

Her mouth didn't twitch as she looked at the windows and dry-swallowed once she saw the one closest to her. They were there again, the bright green eyes. Normally, she would look away, letting her hair cover her face, trying to hide, but she had the feeling that hiding wasn't going to stop those brilliant eyes from stripping her bare if the owner felt like it. She bit her lip and stared at the person staring at her. Long, red hair was tied back in a ponytail and the girl's pale skin was almost glowing in the early morning light. Their eyes connected again and they only looked away when Donny rounded the corner.

Sunnydale High was a ranch-style, sprawled, pseudo-Greek building, filled with tan, awkwardly-dressed teenagers. At the very least she wouldn't be alone in that department. An overenthusiastic man stood outside, patting just about everyone on the back, exclaiming loudly. Donny let her out at the curb and she hunched her shoulders as she headed into the fray. He didn't even honk as he drove away. The main office was almost the first door, just after the janitor's closet and she entered cautiously in case there were any more perky officials. Luckily, everyone else seemed just as morose as she did for the start of school. The secretary sighed as she looked through the wrinkled paperwork Tara had dug out of her bookbag.

Her schedule was printed out and she wandered the halls, which weren't numbered the normal way. 112 and 114 were on opposite sides of the hall and three doors away. The blonde teenager walked through the halls, trying to find her homeroom. Eventually, after the third dead-end, she turned around and found room 409 next to another closet. Tara entered, only to find she wasn't in a class at all. The small office was packed with computer hardware and books, two desks across from one another, both occupied.

The desk that groaned under the weight of books was hiding a man. He was rather tall, balding, with glasses and a tweed jacket. His mouth moved as he skimmed through several of the books, trading them off gently, scribbling on a legal pad. The desk that looked as if a technology shop had sicked up belonged to a dark-haired, youngish woman, who was tapping her fingers in an impatient manner.

Tara glanced at her schedule again, "Ms. Ca-a-lender?"

The woman looked up and smiled, standing. She held her hand out and Tara shook her head, wondering what was with Californians and shaking hands. The identified woman gave her a bright smile and said, "Correctomundo. You're Tara, right?" The tall teenager nodded, and Ms. Calendar's smile tipped up a notch, "That's Rupert Giles, but he prefers just Giles. He won't bother us; he's so into his dusty old books. But call me Jenny though, alright?" She nodded again and Jenny sat down, gesturing to the ottoman at the front of her desk, "Grab a seat, Tara."

She sat quickly and glanced around the office again. Besides a heavily laden bookcase, she didn't see much else. Jenny toned down on the brightness and her features took on a softer look, "Do you know why you have me instead of a homeroom, Tara?"

The blonde girl shook her head before asking, hesitantly, "I-is it abo-o-ut my s-s-s-stut-t-ter?"

Jenny shook her head as well, "No." She winked at her, "Personally, I think it's cute."

The blonde blushed and ducked her head, simultaneously embarrassed and pleased, when Jenny said, "It's about your mom," and Tara hated her for a few brief seconds.

Tara clenched her hands, and stared at a miniscule hole in her jeans. She was trying not to get sad again, thinking about her tiny Mama and her lifeless gray eyes. She took a deep breath, "I kn-know she's d-d-d-dying. Y-y-you do-on't h-h-have to expl-l-l-l-lain it to me." She took a deep breath and glanced at Jenny, "I'm not stupid."

Jenny swallowed, "I know you're not stupid, dear. It's a very sad thing, Tara, and it's alright if you want to cry. But that's not why we're here, either."

Tara didn't look up, just started to pick at the cuticle on her left thumb. She ripped it further and further back, watching the red well up and focusing on the annoyance.

"Tara," Jenny called, watching the girl slip into herself mentally. She called her name louder, and the girl startled, looking up at her with dark blue eyes.

"That's not why we're here," She repeated. "At Sunnydale High, a lot of students have relatives that go away unexpectedly. Mostly, it's a senseless act of violence. Gangs, drugs, inconveniently placed people. It's a shock, they come in here crying to either me or Rupert, and they get over it with other students. It's very rare that a student has to actually watch their relative die. Think of it kinda like therapy. I'm here to talk to you about your mother, the changes in your family, and your feelings about moving here from your hometown. Or we don't have to talk about that. We can talk about the weather, your future, TV, sometimes even gossip."

The girl bit her lip, picking at her cuticle again. The blood was spreading, finally landing on her jeans in tiny drops. "Okay," She muttered.

Jenny smiled at her and said, "So what do you want to talk about?"

Tara swallowed again and tried to think about things. What was there to talk about that didn't include her feelings, her family, or some mix of the two?

"T-t-t-there's this gir-r-r-rl. Sh-she lives nex-xt door. I sa-aw her las-s-st night," Tara finally said.

Jenny raised her eyebrows and gave her a conspiratorial smirk, "Cute, huh?"

Tara blushed again before she added, "I s-s-saw her ag-gain, this m-m-m-m-morn-n-ing. At the oth-h-h-er s-c-c-c-chool. The pr-r-r-ep aca-d-d-d-emy."

The older woman frowned a little, "Normally, I'm not one to give out dating advice, but be careful. That's the school for all the kids involved in gang activity and expelled from the other high-schools. Those are dangerous kids."

The blonde girl nodded as the bell rang and glanced at her schedule, crumpled up into a mostly readable mess. Math was next. It took Tara fifteen minutes to become the second least lost in the classroom, behind an eleventh grader who compared everything to spy movies. English was standard, and the teacher seemed to already like her since she hadn't complained any about the course load. She had one class with Faith, home economics, and her curiosity showed on her face. Tara only knew her briefly, but even that was enough to figure out that Faith didn't seem the domestic type. The brunette shrugged, "Auto shop was full, and I'd like to not burn the house down when I cook, eventually."

Buffy was the only one with the same lunch hour, so they sat together. Buffy mentioned, somewhere during the thirty minute rest period, and between a salami sandwich, "I'm glad as Hell that Dorkelia isn't in our lunch. What a way to lose your appetite."

Somehow, she had two study-periods so she wandered to the library, glad to have senior status. Mr. Giles was behind the desk, with new books in hand. He smiled at her absently as she looked around. The library had a good collection of mythology, so the tall blonde found a comfortable chair and table set. She picked up some of the Greek ones and made a small stack that blocked her face.

The bell rang as she finished one of the smaller books. She dug her incredibly rumpled schedule and smiled at Buffy's drawing of a dragon with an orange highlighter and perfectly arched eyebrows. Her eyebrows rose. She had Jenny again, this time for philosophy.

She put the books away and started for the exit when she heard a throat clear. Tara looked up at Ms. Calender, who smiled, although it was dimmer than her original smile, "Finally noticed, huh? I teach five of the seniors every fall quarter in the library, and they have to have at least a 3.8 GPA. There are three from the public schools, one from the private school just out of town, and one from the prep academy."

As Tara frowned, Jenny warded off her questions, "The academy has a more advanced curriculum and although a security guard or relative comes in with the student, they tend to do really well with other students from different schools."

The teacher took a seat at the table Tara had been at before, then quirked an eyebrow at the still standing girl, "Do I have to invite you to sit every time?"

Tara took a seat facing the door at an angle. Hopefully, they would notice Jenny before they noticed Tara. She was correct. Three boys entered the school, only one wearing a uniform that consisted of khaki pants and a red shirt. The other two proved to be walking fashion disasters like most of Sunnydale High. If one of them hadn't sneered and the other nearly fainted, they would have blended in beautifully.

A tall, dark man sauntered in with a blond man following him. The blond man sat in the closest chair to her, sprawled in it as if he owned the library. From Jenny's glare instead of a slightly chagrinned look, obviously, he wasn't a student. He glanced around as his dark companion melted into the shadows of the old library, before yelling in a thick British accent, "Oy, Red! Bring your arse!"

The door opened again and the red-haired girl with the bright green eyes came in. She took the last seat, tucking her skirt beneath her knees, and letting her bookbag fall to the side before scanning them. Her eyes seemed to linger the longest on Tara, and the blonde looked away. One staring match a day was enough for her.

Jenny smiled at her gathered group and said, "Now that everyone's here, let's start with the introductions. Name, school, one interest; I'll start." She stood up, "Jenny Calender, Sunnydale High school, computers."

The boy with khaki pants stood up, "Devon Giggles, Our Lady of Solitude, music."

The dark-haired boy who had sneered stood up, "Warren Mears, McArthur High, reading."

The shortest boy stood, "Jonathan Levinson, Neptune High, foreign languages."

Tara swallowed her apprehension, stood, and took a deep breath. She tried to think of happy, courageous thoughts, "Ta-a-ara Maclay, Sun-n-nyda-ale High, myth-th-ths." The blonde tried not to flop in her seat and licked her dry lips. Mears watched the action, eyes narrowed. The blond male stood up, "I'm not a student, just here for the lovely view. My name's Spike, university of my house, my girl Drusilla."

The red-head stood, "Willow Rosenberg, Sunnydale Preparatory Academy, and the view from my window."

Her eyes never left Tara's bowed head.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Existence

Author's Name: The Best Name On The Site

Rating: M, NC-17

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't sue me.

Feedback: Please?

Distribution: Take it, just ask first.

Summary: Tara moves to Sunnydale her senior year and finds that the idyllic town isn't as great as it seems. Especially when a string of murders and freak accidents is predicted by local weirdo Willow Rosenberg- AU

Author's Notes: Just an interesting idea I had. I don't have my own computer for now, so this is going to take a while longer to finish than I originally thought.

3

Tara could hear Jenny let out a sigh when Willow's eyes finally looked away and she raised her head, although if the teacher was exasperated or relieved the blonde didn't know. Ms. Calender smiled at them and said, "Since today is so pressed for time, we're not going to go into much beyond what it is, exactly. Who can tell me the definition of philosophy?"

Warren's hand shot up and he said, loudly, "Philosophy is the study of general and fundamental problems concerning matters such as existence, knowledge, values, reason, mind, and language."

Devon snickered and Jonathan wasn't exactly discreet as he said, disbelievingly, "Dude, seriously?"

The other boy didn't even have the grace to blush. Instead he gave Jonathan a look, "I said I like to read."

Jonathan scoffed, "Read what, dictionaries?"

"Yes," Warren replied. His face didn't change, but his eyes flickered to Tara as she shifted. Between him and Willow, the blonde was surprised she didn't have a complex.

"That's good for the SAT's Warren," Jenny placated him, and then turned to the rest of them, "Your homework for tonight is to pick a philosophy and research it. You will each do an individual one, no collaborations, but you can call and e-mail each other. Spike, remember that the agreement that allows Willow to come to this class states that either you or Li- I mean, Angel, has to monitor Willow's communication."

He smirked, "The poofer will be delighted; he's always wanted to be in the mind of a teenage girl."

Jenny waved a hand at them, "Go ahead. Mingle."

Somehow, she ended up standing next to Jonathan and across from both Willow and Warren. Warren pulled a sheet of paper out and quickly wrote his e-mail and number down before grabbing his things and leaving. She didn't miss how he turned to look at her just before the door closed.

Willow and Devon knew each other as the taller boy crossed his arms and turned to the red-head. He narrowed his eyes at her, "Where were you yesterday? Todd, Brah, and I were waiting forever. If we wanted a flake, Oz would totally have been the perfect choice."

She shook her head, "I'm on house arrest."

He ran his fingers through his hair, "What'd you do?"

She blinked, "No, I mean I'm literally on house arrest until my case goes through. It's supposed to teach me responsibility and remorse against my crimes against society or something like that. I mean you find one little file that the government has encrypted and suddenly you're a bad guy."

Devon winced, "Shit, you're never gonna be able to come practice. We'll come by Friday to practice, then."

Jonathan blurted, "Are you two in a band or something?"

Devon rolled his eyes before saying sarcastically, "Nah, we're planning a heist."

Willow elbowed him, "Dude, you can't joke like that. I wouldn't get out until 2012 if they even thought that was true."

He raised his hands, "My mistake." Devon turned to Jonathan, "Yes, we are in a band. It's called 'Dingoes Ate My Baby.'"

The other girl said flatly, "No. We had a vote, 'Icebreaker' won. Besides, that name? Totally gonna get us tarred and feathered in Australia."

He mocked her, making his voice high and whiny before scrawling his number and e-mail on the paper, Jonathan hurrying after him, and turning to Willow, raising a hand warningly, "Don't be late."

She looked at him and her eyes were bitingly cold as she said, "Shut up."

He left the library, Jonathan hot on his heels. Tara looked at Willow, slightly surprised to find out she was taller. The other girl didn't seem the type to take things sitting down, and it made her seem bigger. Tara smiled at her, waveringly, and Willow's eyes seemed to lose some of that coldness. They weren't warm by any stretch of the imagination, but the frost ebbed somewhat. Willow spoke before she could open her mouth, "You live next door to me. I saw you last night."

Tara nodded shyly. It was hard to pretend that the frighteningly green eyes weren't original.

"I-I-I th-th-though-gh-ght you we-we-we-were a c-c-c-cat," She admitted, cursing herself for stuttering.

Willow looked thoughtful before saying, "Meow, then."

Tara bit her lip, her smile curling around her teeth. The other girl glanced at her watch before saying, "You want a ride?"

The blonde swallowed dryly, "Y-y-y-yes."

The smaller girl tossed Tara's book bag to her and took the list from the table. Tara walked behind her as she tapped Spike's shoulder and said, "C'mon."

He stood up, casually slouched, and looked around, "Where's the Nancy-boy, Red?"

Willow shrugged, "Don't know."

Spike looked around and rolled his shoulders, "Let's go, then."

Tara bit her lip harder at the careless way they planned on leaving their brother. She and Donnie may not have been the best of friends, more out of necessity and their mother's illness had they forged any type of bond, but even before that she didn't think she would just casually up and leave him to his own devices if she knew he didn't have a way home.

Willow glanced at her and looked slightly confused, "Are you worried about Angel?"

She nodded, reluctantly, and Willow laughed somewhat, "He's twenty-four years old. Honestly, I'd be more concerned if he didn't have a ride."

Tara nodded, still a little worried at the lack of familial love but followed Willow and Spike out the school. The car didn't stand out from any of its peers, but somehow all the other teenagers and teachers stayed away from it. She could see her friends in the crowd, eyes wide and mouths open except for Faith whose eyes were narrowed slightly. The dark-haired girl nodded slightly at her, something like respect in her eyes. Tara flinched away from it, slipping in the seat behind Willow, slamming the door between her and the staring eyes. Although none of the eyes burned her as much as Willow's, they felt different.

Spike's driving was at best unsophisticated and at worst a death trap the government encouraged as a teenager. They took a corner so fast that she could smell the burning rubber. She really didn't think Camry's were made to go that fast. Spike stopped in front of her neighbor's house and drove off once they were out the car.

Willow rolled her eyes and waved as she entered her own house. Tara smiled as she went to her door and tried to open it. She could hear the lock click and she frowned before knocking. Her father was supposed to get extra keys made, but with getting everything set up, he'd probably delegated the task to Donny who was so absent-minded when it came to everyday tasks that they were never finished. She looked around to see if there were any potted plants or anything that could hold a spare key, but the porch was still empty of decorations.

She uttered a rare curse and kicked the door. Tara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from yelling as she held her foot, flopping onto the wooden porch, pouting somewhat. The blonde let her head fall back onto the door and tried to think of where, exactly, her father would be. Daddy worked from home, so the only thing that he would leave for would be her mother. She hoped Mama was okay.

"Hey, Tara, you okay?" Someone called. She looked up and to the left, where Willow was leaning out of her window. Tara climbed over the porch railing and shook her head, "I-I-I'm lo-o-o-cked out."

Willow made a weird sort of gesture, "C'mon in and we'll wait for someone to unlock your house." Tara's nervousness was obvious but Willow didn't look very concerned. She waved for her to come in and Tara, for once in her life, entered someone else's house without a parental figure.

The red-head met her on the stairs, already in a pair of sweatpants and her school tie was around her neck, dark against the pale skin. The hair tie was also gone, leaving her long hair, even longer than Tara's, swinging around her waist. It curled almost reluctantly at the ends, as if it was willing to fight nature. She was almost down the stairs, leaning against the banister with the easy grace Spike and her other brother had displayed.

Her eyes were that burning brightness again as she finished going down, almost directly in front of her, before she said, "Layout's probably the same as it is your house. Basements off limits to everyone and if you go to the room on the left of the kitchen, ignore Spike's girlfriend."

She smiled at Willow and took a deep breath. This was the only way she could talk without stuttering badly, and most people weren't patient enough to let her. The red-head made it seem as if nothing was more important, with her green-fire eyes.

"Thank you," She said. It came out quietly, but it seemed to bounce around the room. The coldness was gone entirely and Willow's smile was small but genuine. "You're welcome, Tara."

Even when Willow was back upstairs, Tara felt the shivers down her back at the way her name pinged off of Willow's tongue.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Existence

Author's Name: The Best Name On The Site

Rating: M, NC-17

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't sue me.

Feedback: Please?

Distribution: , The Kitten Board

Summary: Tara moves to Sunnydale her senior year and finds that the idyllic town isn't as great as it seems. Especially when a string of murders and freak accidents is predicted by local weirdo Willow Rosenberg. AU

4

The houses were nearly mirror-images of one another. Tara said nearly because even though they had similar layouts, her house already had a more relaxed atmosphere than Willow's did. Not that it was sterile, just not very lived-in. It was homey, with jackets slung over the chairs and shoes at the door, eclectic art hanging on the walls. There were snap-shots of a couple that looked fairly recent and some of Angel, Spike, and Willow growing up. Angel and Spike were together more often than not, hanging out on bikes and with dirt-smeared faces and sneaky grins. At one point, Angel looked skeletally thin and pale, with wide black eyes. Spike seemed to go through a similar phase and she noticed that he didn't appear to have gotten any larger. Willow appeared in a totally different setting and wasn't in the pictures with them until recently. She could see some of the shops in the background.

She stopped as the door opened and Willow's dark-haired brother entered the house. He glanced at her with no interest and continued into the kitchen. She headed upstairs and, to the far left, where she was sure Willow's room would be. A white-board read 'Will's Room.' She knocked softly but there was no answer.

Tara knocked a little harder but there was no answer again so she pushed open the door a little. Willow was sitting cross-legged on her bed, large black headphones covering her ears, a laptop on her lap. There was a small furrow between her eyebrows and the tip of her tongue stuck out as she typed.

The dark-blonde stepped into the room and Willow looked up before giving her a small smile and taking her headphones off. The right one had white tape wrapped around the bit between the cup and the strap and they looked well-used. The red-head moved her laptop off of her lap so she could sit up and stretched her legs in front of her, placing it on her lap again before making a gesture for Tara to come closer.

Tara took her shoes off before she sat on the edge of the bed facing the back of Willow's laptop, crossing her legs. The smaller girl's right hand was on her laptop, tapping an irregular beat that she made an effort to stop every few seconds while the owner of the hand was looking over the side of the bed for something. She emerged triumphant with a CD held in her hands.

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of a piano coming from the headphones, Willow's tapping, and the faint humming sound from the central air. Willow opened the DVD drive and placed the CD there. Willow clicked a few times before sound started, but it was too low for Tara to hear anything beyond the gentle strumming of a guitar.

"W-w-w-what are yo-o-o-ou liste-e-e-ning to?" Tara asked the other girl. Willow narrowed her eyes at the screen and said, "'Personal' by Stars. You've hear them before?"

Tara shook her head, "N-n-n-no."

Willow unplugged her headphones and started to shift until they were sitting next to one another and Tara only had to move her head slightly to see. She could feel the other girl's warmth, seeping into her skin and they were almost touching. Tara felt strangely relaxed though, as if they'd done this a thousand times before in another world, and she didn't shy away. The smaller teenager pressed a button that replayed the song.

The guitar was louder and there were faint, chime-like sounds before a man started to sing. Willow's fingers stopped tapping irregularly and instead followed the soft rhythm. She mouthed the words along with the man and swayed lightly before she bumped into Tara and sat still, a slightly sheepish but mostly nonchalant look on her face. It was a soft, very beautiful song and Tara didn't describe it, afraid to not be able to do it justice, especially when the second singer came on. Her voice was more vulnerable but just as beautiful. When the song eventually petered off Tara asked, hesitantly, "I-i-i-is th-th-that you-u-uur favo-o-o-orit-t-t-te s-s-s-song?"

Willow looked thoughtful before replying, "No, my second favorite. My all-time favorite is 'Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy' by Queen." She paused before asking, "What's your favorite song?"

Tara cleared her throat, and flushed a little. She took a deep breath and focused, before saying slowly so her stutter did not show, "'Not Half Right' by Heatmiser."

Willow smiled a little, "Yeah, I've heard it before. The Elliot Smith cover?"

Tara nodded; relieved Willow didn't make fun of her for it. Jessica had teased her about it, asking if she was a "depressing girl to match that depressing song?" shortly before their friendship dissolved. Tara had always been too reserved to really show her emotions beyond embarrassment and hesitance, which was not conductive to a great friendship while Jessica was more of an extrovert who couldn't really understand why she had to break Tara out of her shell or why she basically had to hold Tara's hand and guide her through the friendship.

She wondered if Willow would get bored with her or if they would start a friendship, like the one she'd made with her sunny, bright friends. Then the thought hit her: Sunny friends in Sunnydale. Her grin was brief but luminous and her red-haired (friend?) schoolmate opened her mouth to say something but at the same time they heard the slamming of a door and a male voice shout brusquely, as if it would make him feel better, "Fuck!"

Her eyes went wide as she recognized the voice. Her older brother rarely cursed and never louder than a mutter, afraid even a mile away that their parents would find out. She found herself stammering something inane but Willow's look was accepting, and she gave a half wave as she stood to go outdoors, fighting with her shoestrings for a moment before pulling them on and heading downstairs. She opened the door and Donny stood in front of her, his face pale under his thin beard, as he grabbed her hand and started to drag her to the car. The door shut behind her just as Donny started to speak, cutting across the Rosenberg' yard to reach the truck faster, "Its mama, we gotta get to the hospital."

Tara couldn't even open her mouth to ask what was wrong as her mind seemed blank before repeating, _Please don't let her die, please don't let her die, she doesn't deserve it, please._ It was all she seemed capable of understanding. The dull roar of their vehicle didn't reach her. Even as Donny pulled up at the hospital and she followed, it was only the mantra that had her attention. _Please don't let her die, please don't let her die, she doesn't deserve it, please._

The nurse was blankly cheerful and Tara was pulled out of her state with a few thorough pokes to verify her age. "E-e-e-e-e-eighteen," She said. The nurse was disbelieving as most people were. With her constant shrinking away, stutter and the freckles across the bridge of her nose, most people wouldn't put her past fifteen so she took little offence to handing over her ID and saying her birth date. The nurse' blank smile was still irritating as she said, "Well happy birthday dear."

Donny didn't take note as he growled and pulled her to the elevator by her wrist. When he let go to enter, she rubbed it to bring the blood flow back. He pressed the buttons with more force than necessary and paced until they reached the fourth floor. Their father was sitting in a chair, his broad hands covering his face and his shoulders, normally so strong and able to withstand everything, were slumped in defeat.

The siblings were standing in front of him for almost a minute, Donny's hands clenching and unclenching, and Tara's hands sweating in the pockets of her worn jeans, when he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and the dark rings were more pronounced, like bruises. Daddy stood up and hugged Tara to him. His grip was strong and his normal smells of aftershave and cinnamon were just barely noticeable under the heavy antiseptic scent that hospitals had. It was still comfortable.

His face was scratchy as he said, "Happy birthday, baby girl. Sorry I didn't tell you this morning."

She shook her head.

It wasn't a big deal, especially considering where they were. Mama was so much more important than her. She could have another birthday, hell, she could have another day and for all they knew someone was about to mark every square inch of her mother like lines on a map. Daddy let her go and looked as if he was about to hug Donny, but the young man was pacing like a tiger in a cage. She and her father sat down and she felt her left hand, of its own accord, reach out and hold her father's hand. It was rough from farm work and worn from age. It hit her suddenly, like the sunny lines of a thousand years ago, that he was old and she was getting older, and one day the positions would be reversed with a young lady holding her worn hand realizing the same thing.

They sat like statues as Donny kept moving until a doctor came in. He reminded her of the other doctor, the one that said that everything was going to be fine, with his neat grey hair and care-worn face, and deep, sad eyes and it flashed through her eyes, in her father and brothers' eyes, the one thought. Liar.

The doctor seemed to know and couldn't stop himself from moving back a smidge. He spoke with almost no inflection, just sadness and facts, "My name is Dr. Feller. I just left Madeline and after a few tests, everyone in my department agreed that the cancer remised and came back in her brain as there are two lumps in her brain. The first is a suspicious, possibly cancerous lump in her hippocampus. It's barely larger than the end of a toothpick but it is the cause of why she fell down the stairs. There is a second, larger one that is in her frontal lobe. I won't go into details, but its eating her brain to put it bluntly."

He took a breath, in the same tone with words that never failed to hurt him, "She has three and a half, four months is our best estimate since her blood work won't be in for a week. Her room is 416 if you would like to visit her."

Donny cursed again, as the doctor walked away, "Fuck!" Her father took a deep breath and said, his voice low and resigned, "Damned right. Fuck."


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Existence

Author's Name: The Best Name On The Site

Rating: M, NC-17

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't sue me.

Feedback: Please?

Distribution: , The Kitten Board

Summary: Tara moves to Sunnydale her senior year and finds that the idyllic town isn't as great as it seems. Especially when a string of murders and freak accidents is predicted by local weirdo Willow Rosenberg. AU

Author's Notes: In the first chapter, Tara talks about her mother dying. In the last chapter, they find that she went into remission and then got better. Tara always said she was dying because of the chance that the cancer would come back, because they never identified when it left.

5

Tara stared at the computer screen as she started on her homework. It was already nine in the evening and, while normally she would be taking a bath right now, the hospital visit had taken longer than she expected. She had spent most of it sitting by her mother's side, looking at her, memorizing what she looked like, what she sounded like, what her hand felt like. Mama had been asleep for most of the visit but the rest of the Maclay family didn't leave until visiting hours was over, which changed during the seasons.

Still, most of her homework was finished. The last thing was an essay for English class, which she found extremely stupid. An essay about what she did over the summer would hardly make five paragraphs. What was she supposed to write: I watched my mother recover from near death only to have to see her die again and moved over five hundred miles away? Even fudging extra and talking about the farm wasn't going to cut it.

She sighed and started to type. She didn't really think about it, just laid the bare facts as to what she'd done, and printed it out. Her second hardest was her philosophy homework. She had no idea that there were so many of them and they each had subdivisions. A quick look at Wikipedia had yielded a few responses and she decided to research Confucianism further at school tomorrow.

Tara wrote it on a sheet of paper, folded it, and put it in the front pocket of her book bag, next to her pens. She exited out of the websites then shut the computer down. She watched the screen and listened to the hum shut off. It was quiet and dark, suddenly, in the study and she pushed her chair away before taking her book bag with her upstairs.

There was the steady bass from Donnie's room, the incomprehensible, growling lyrics, and the soft jazz from her father's room, down the hall, nearly lost. She placed her book bag in her room before going to her dresser and opening the second drawer. Rather than actual pajamas, they were mostly lounge pants and tank tops or t-shirts she'd acquired over the years. She took a shirt and a pair of shorts that were a close match and headed to the bathroom. Her shower was hot and made her, for just a few minutes, forget about her mother. Unfortunately, it was over too soon.

She stood in the middle of her room, trying to decide what to do. She still had two boxes, filled with books, movies, cassette tapes and her Walkman, or she could try to find something on TV. She headed downstairs where her father sat in front of the TV, a beer bottle in hand. It was nearly full and beads of sweat were dripping off of it. Tara sat next to her father and looked at the screen. The news reporters were mannequin-like, well practiced motions taking place of interactions, and made stupid jokes, but she thought that was universal.

It took almost forty minutes of repeated incidents over town for something of interest to show. The woman turned to her male companion and said, "I suppose we've saved the best for last."

"Or the worst, depends entirely on who you've asked," He shrugged. She rolled her eyes at him as he said, "For those of you just turning in, we're talking about Sunnydale's oldest family, the Rosenberg's, and the city's newest case, Willow Rosenberg v. Sunnydale police department."

His companion continued, "She is accused of hacking into and modifying private records. For about three months she's been on house arrest."

He whistled, "Missed the whole summer, huh? Poor kid."

She nodded, "Poor kid is right." The woman turned back to the camera, "That's it for channel seven news at nine; we'll be back at eleven."

They said, at the same time, "Have a great night."

She clicked off the TV and stood. Her father had fallen asleep somewhere between the slow speed chase and the cats getting stuck in the tree. His bottle was warm but still upright. She pried it from his fingers and poured it out in the sink before placing the glass bottle in the recycling bin. She flipped off the light then moved to open the window and noticed, for the first time, that her hands were shaking slightly. Tara opened the window then clenched her hands into fists to stop. There was a cool breeze blowing and she leaned her head against the glass, before trying to sort her thoughts out.

Momma was dying. That was a given. Momma had been dying for years, off and on, cure and remission and then the new, final blow, when she'd been pregnant with Hannah, only to find out about her breast cancer and the miscarriage, then the chemo.

They had moved. They had moved into a tiny town, where the biggest case of the year was a kid who hacked into records. And they had moved right next door to a girl who was under house arrest and who seemed the nicest of the three she had met.

She had friends. She had a life, here, where her stutter and her family and her secret made her shunned, made her a new type of leper, the kind that was taken in then thrown away. But she had friends. And this was California, the place for new beginnings wasn't it?

Tara opened her eyes and pulled away from the window. It faced the west, to the sunset, where Willow's house was. She could see into the kitchen, where Angel and Willow were in the kitchen. They were sitting on the counter and sharing what looked like a plate. They sat across from one another, cross-legged, and seemed to be having a contest, each pale hand reaching lightening fast. Spike leaned against the fridge, the shiny glass in his hand reflected by the light they had on.

The teenager turned away. The flickering light of the TV, moving from dark to light scenes rapidly as her father had rolled over onto the remote, was the only light on the first floor. The hallway light of the second floor was glaring in comparison and she turned it off as well. Tara flopped onto her bed, just barely avoiding the sneakers she'd worn earlier that lay on the middle of the floor. She buried her head under the pillows, blocking out the moonlight and the street lights weird, mixed glow. The fabric from her sheets still smelled like home, like wheat, horse sweat, and baked things; not the salty air, the burned rubber tang, and the stale scent of city.

For just a few, brief moments, she contemplated crying.


End file.
